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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480947">The Right Choice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naja_Nivea/pseuds/Naja_Nivea'>Naja_Nivea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Depression, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Imperfect Luke, Sad Grogu, imperfect Din</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:22:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naja_Nivea/pseuds/Naja_Nivea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes being a parent is making a decision and praying to anyone that will listen that it was the right one. Din and Grogu have to live with the consequences of doing the "right" thing, while Luke wonders if Han would make a better Jedi master than him.  An exploratory Fix-It fic set after the end of S2, where Din finally grieves everything he has lost, Grogu tries to come to terms with being abandoned, again, and Luke wonders how Yoda made being a master look damn so easy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Attachments are Dangerous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The soft winds of Nevarro swirled around them in gentle eddies as Din sat in the shade.  It was more of a habit than a need.  Even though his armor helped regulate his own temperature, the outside of it could get stupidly hot in strong sunlight.  Grogu played not far away from him with a big, red ball.  The little guy pounced and rolled on it, almost like a cat. Soon, he toddled over, barely able to carry it and handed it to Din, clearly wanting him to roll it so he could chase.  Din obliged happily, a low chuckle escaping.  This place had become almost idyllic, at least compared to what it had been.  Maybe not as visually beautiful as Sorgan but still, it had that wonderful feeling of safety even if the feeling of family was gone.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was nice to play in such an open, safe place.  Din had never really been the playful type, even as a child.  His earliest memories, before joining the Mandalorians, there hadn’t been other children around for him to play with.  His parents had farmed and the work was hard and tiring, too much so to devote time to useless games.  After joining his tribe, there had been other children but he had been too shy, too anxious, and looking back at it as an adult, too traumatized to join in the foundling games.  Even the few times he was forced to play, he had been too afraid to enjoy himself.  The fear of screwing up and making them cast him out and being left alone in the vastness of space had nearly paralyzed him, no matter how many times his Buir told him it wouldn’t happen.  Then he had taken the helmet and started training in the fighting corps and had been expected to grow up and away from play.  Then as an adult, he had never had the easy way with kids others had.  He never felt comfortable rolling on the ground mimicking a sand worm or on hands and knees bucking and pretending to be a mythosaur.  No that had been Paz or Samu or a number of others now dead or hidden.  But now he saw it, the simple joy of making a youngling giggle in play, though this one snorted when he was happy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cara smiled at him, throwing some joke at him about going soft.  He had really, in a way.  Where before his entire purpose in life was his job, catch marks, get money, support his fellow Mandalorians, no mercy, no attachments, no exceptions.  Now it was different, he had a massive attachment, no fellow Mandalorians, and maybe he had showed mercy, which was why he now had a massive attachment.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was about to say something glib to her, enjoying the banter, Cara was always good for some snarky chatting, when he heard it.  The sound of servos and metal, droids and lots of them.  He rose to call the Kid back but just as he opened his mouth, they rounded the corner, hundreds, maybe thousands of dark troopers.  His breath caught in his chest as he took off running and yelling to Grogu to come back, just as blaster shots exploded around him.  At this rage, his beskar might or might not hold up but he didn’t care, he needed to get to Grogu.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried to run fast, but it was as if the sandy streets were grabbing at his feet, making it hard for him to move.  He yelled to Cara to help him, but she was already down, a great, charred wound through her chest.  Her eyes already clouding and her mouth gaping to suck air into lungs that no longer existed.  Her body not having realized it was dead yet.  He threw himself forward, trying to use his hands to claw faster to Grogu, the child, he had to save the child, his foundling, his son, his entire world.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a trooper right in front of Grogu now, weapon leveled at him.  They won’t kill him, he tried to calm himself.  They want him alive.  If he was alive, he could get him back.  Din drew his own blaster and fired, his shots all missing like a shitty Stormtrooper.  He screamed in frustration but it did no good, the Dark Trooper fired, and Din watched Grogu’s ears go limp, and his eyes wide with shock.  He screamed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next instant, he woke, a scream dying in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest.  It had been a dream, all just a dream.  He worked to slow his breathing and still his shaking hands.  Around him the hum of engines sang, though the pitch was different in his new ship.  The low lights show just enough to remind him he was safe.  Careful not to jar his injured leg too much, he rolled onto his back, running his shaking hand through his messy, too long hair.  Now that he was utterly alone, he had no issue removing his armor.  In fact it suited him better because he spent more time sleeping than anything else lately.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had wasted no time getting a new ship and back to work.  Three jobs down, enough credits to keep him comfortable for a few months, I go ring the several hundred pounds of Beskar he had gotten for turning in Gideon.  That was safely stashed inside of a foam dummy frozen in carbonite.  And now 28 days after letting Grogu go, he floated through space with no destination in mind and no motivation to even get out of bed.  He had started this pattern originally because he had been stabbed in the leg on his last job.  Nothing terrible, just a lucky shot that missed his armor and caught him in the back of the thigh.  It was deep and probably clipped the bone, but it would heel.  It would have healed faster if he had bothered to fill his first aid kit with bacta, but he hadn’t.  It hadn’t seemed important at the time, at least not as important as getting back to work, getting a new job, a new purpose, a new, something.  So he had cleaned the wound and left it open to heal and crawled into bed to rest it for a little while but once he had stopped moving, it was like he couldn’t start again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He exhaled a sigh, his breath hanging in the air in front of him.  He had turned off everything except for basic life support and the ship was cold, much colder than he kept it when Grogu was around, more like before, BG, when he was nearly perpetually alone in space.  Grogu didn’t like cold so he kept it warmer, more comfortable, more homey.  With no armor on now, the cold turned his breath to fog and he pulled his covers tighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wished he could say he had lost track of the days but he hasn’t.  He knew to the minute of when those doors had closed and he had been spending more and more time in his bunk, in an attempt to escape the slow rolling minutes.  His stomach growled, reminding him that it had been a good 30 hours since he had eaten, he pulled his knees higher and ignored it.  The Mandalorians had drilled into all foundlings that it was important to keep up with basic needs.  Not eating, sleeping, ect could affect your ability to fight, which was an affront to the creed.  He couldn’t be bothered though, he was barely a Mandalorian anymore anyway.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also wished the nightmares were a one time thing, but they weren’t.  Everytime he slept, they plagued him.  Always different, it would have been easier if it was the same one, but no, they varied.  They had the same ending though, Grogu dead, injured, stolen, gone, always gone.  Gone in real life too.  His expressive eyes always begging, “why, why did you let me die? Why did you send me away?”  Tears rose in his own eyes and threatened to fall, he savagely thrust them back, he hadn’t let them fall, not once in the last 28 days.  He wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like there was anyone here to see him.  It might have been pride or it might have been because if he opened the floodgates, he might never be able to close them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His throat felt like it was closing but he just breathed through it.  He knew he needed to do something but he was too tired.  Even feeding himself seemed too exhausting and overwhelming right now.  He wasn’t a fool, he knew it was more mental than physical exhaustion but it didn’t make it go away.  His stomach twisted, the hunger pangs cresting the wave into nausea.  He curled up around himself tighter.  He was prone to hunger pukes, violently dry heaving bile and saliva repeatedly might be one of the most unpleasant experiences in the human condition.  But even that wasn’t enough to convince him to get up.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Mandalorians had a word for this, heartsickness.  A condition of such sadness, loneliness, desolation that you no longer have the strength to live.  He had seen it happen just after joining them.  A man that had lost his wife and two children.  He had simply pined himself until he death.  Din wondered if that was what he was doing.  It wasn’t like this was the first time he had lost someone but this seemed different, deeper, worse. He couldn’t seem to find a way past it, around it, or even through it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An annoying voice in his head, that sounded like the Armorer, reminded him that he had lost everything before and rebuilt himself.  But always before he had had help.  His adopted father and the other foundlings had helped him survive losing his family and society on Aq Venita.  His Mandalorian family had supported him through losing his adopted father.  And when his Coverts were attacked and his family killed, he had had Grogu.  But now he was alone, completely alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voice reminded him that it was by choice.  He could always go back to Sorgan.  He knew Omerta would let him stay.  He could discard the helmet and start again as a simple husband.  But not a father because he had no child, not anymore.  He could go back to Nevarro, in fact he should.  Get another job or stay for a while.  He knew Cara and Greef would find him lodgings.  But it couldn’t stay there.  It was too hard, like sandpaper on an open wound.  Greef’s overly exuberant trying to cheer him up made him feel guilty that it didn’t work and Cara’s compassionate gaze made it too hard not breakdown.  And then there was the loss of his Coverts, the only home he had known for so long.  It was gone, all gone.  Everyone, everything gone, even his trusty ship.  He wished, hoped, even prayed the Armorer had survived.  She might have, the armor was gone, the forges cold but she could also be dead and the tunnels scavenged.  Nothing left of his Mandalorian family, no giggling of the foundlings, no sound of practice, no beating of the forge.  It was quiet now, like a tomb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could join Fett and Fennec.  They had offered him a spot with them.  He had little in common with them though.  They were the type of people he hunted, not generally lived with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was Bo-Katan, she had sent him several messages getting increasingly close to begging him to come and work with her.  It would give him Mandalorians to be around again.  He would hear his language, eat his food, smell the fuel of jetpacks.  It wouldn’t be the same though.  He hadn’t grown up with them.  He doubted Axe would become the brothers he had lost or that Reeves could take the place of Samu, with her pithy laugh, throaty voice, and powerful thighs wrapped around him at night.  And he would also have to be around Bo-Katan and probably have to watch his back for an attack.  He didn’t dislike her per se, he just found her to be rigid and single minded, which wasn’t that much of a problem except he found her end goal very selfish.  And no matter how often he offered her the stupid blade, she refused.  It was laughable, really, he barely cared about drinking water, much less ruling Mandalore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Long story short, he was in a bad way.  His stomach clenched again and he felt bile burn in the back of his throat.  He swallowed, ignoring it and closing his eyes, hoping to fall asleep again.  He had nothing good to eat anyway.  Nothing but practical, nutritional, and calorically dense rations.  No fresh fish or amphibian meat to make sure a little carnivore stayed healthy.  No sweets stashed in high, hiding places to keep them from grabby hands, not that it ever worked, used as treats for simply being a good son.  Nothing he wanted, nothing that tempted him.  Not a good enough reason to get up.  As he drifted off again, he just hoped that Grogu was doing better with this whole thing than him. If Grogu was ok, this would all be worth it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*******</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luke carried his tiny charge out into the open air, hoping it would calm him some.  It was late and his smallest padawan slept uneasily.  The little guy was not adjusting as well as he had hoped.  He refused food, slept often, and had little desire to train.  Luke was getting frustrated but didn’t want Grogu to realize it.  The child also suffered from nightmares, terrible things that had him tossing objects in his sleep, no doubt leading to his daytime exhaustion.  He also realized recently that the little thing was constantly reaching out to his armored, former protector.  Of course the Mandalorian wasn’t Force sensitive, so didn’t realize it but it was still a bother.  Luke had checked on the man, and frankly he was a mess, which was probably leading to Grogu’s inability to let go of him.  He would have sent him a message to tell him to pull himself together and get over it, except he wasn’t 100% sure he wasn’t unconsciously reacting to Grogu’s state of mind as well, like some Force amplified feedback loop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His steps led him to sink down beside the only other figure stirring at this time, his brother-in-law, Han.  The smuggler turned </span>
  <em>
    <span>mildly</span>
  </em>
  <span> domesticated husband raised an eyebrow and a mug to him.  Luke settled the pram between them and accepted the mug.  They sat in silence for a bit, sharing a bottle and mug of alcohol.  Han had been waiting at his makeshift temple for a few days while the Falcon was worked on.  Leia was off world, at the council meetings.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grogu stirred, crying and reaching his little paws out at something in his dream.  He could again feel him calling out to the Mandalorian through the Force.  Luke tried to sush him, reaching out with the Force and was met with a strong denial and the bottle in front of him exploding.  Han didn’t even jump, just wiping his face and continuing to drink, stretching one leg out.  Luke sometimes forgot how tall he was, so used to seeing him next to Chewy.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quite the tantrum that one can throw, even in sleep,” Han broke the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t relaxing into life here easily.  He needs to let go his attachments,” Luke supplied and Han just continued to stare into the dark.  Luke wasn’t a quiet person by nature so asked, “where are you heading to?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Outer Rim to pick up some Mandalorian Princess that wants to talk to the Council,” he supplied then looked away and Luke knew that was Solo’s way of telling him he was being an idiot about something.  One of the things he loved about his brother-in-law was that he didn’t revere him, think him wise, or think him special.  The man had no issue telling him when he was being stupid.  “Say what you want to say, what did I do wrong?”  He blurted out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say you did anything wrong,” he didn’t look over and the child cried out again.  Han reached his hand in, rubbing his finger on tiny belly.  The child stilled, his ears still drooping.  Solo did have a good touch with kids, it made him a good father, maybe better than Leia was as a mother but he would never say it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to say it,” Luke pursed his lips and looked out into the dark.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it worth it, having his little sprog here?” he asked, still looking away.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it is.  He is incredibly powerful and needs training,” he defended. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He is barely out of nappies and tries to swallow dice,” Han pointed out with a chuckle then became serious.  “He doesn’t seem happy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He just needs to adjust,” he tried, not sure he believed it.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were silent for a bit before Han broke it again, “do you speak any Mando’a?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, other than the one that kidnapped you, these were the first Mandalorians I have ever seen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Their language is odd, very different from Basic.  They don’t use gender most of the time and with the exception of one use case, they don’t differentiate between adopted children and biological ones,” Han let that hang in the air for a minute.  Languages were windows into societies.  They shaped the way someone thought and perceived the worlds around them.  They also reflected the way someone saw the world.   “They also have a different word for grief and grief over the loss of a child,” he offered adding to Luke’s discomfort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And how did you become such an expert on Mandalorian culture and language?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never said I was an expert, just picked up a few things here or there on the outer rim,” he defended himself.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what ‘ad’ika, Partaylir gar are cyare,’  means?” Luke asked after a pause.  He was pretty sure he could tell without help but he wanted confirmation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is no Basic word for ad’ika but basically it means, ‘remember you are loved, my precious child.’”  Han supplied, still refusing to look at Luke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Jedi felt his shoulder start to climb to hear ears in annoyance that Han wouldn’t be plan with what he wanted to say.  “You think I made a mistake taking this child, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say mistake,” Han corrected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then what would you say?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would say that maybe you don’t fully appreciate the situation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is there to understand.  The child is force sensitive and needs training.  I can train him.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True, true but there is more to life than training.”  Luke went to debate but Han held up his hand.  “Hear me out.  You understand the Force and being a Jedi, that is obvious, but you don’t understand being alone and an orphan, not really.  You don’t know what it feels like to have no security, worried where your next meal, or decent night’s sleep will come from.  You don’t know what it means when you finally find someone that makes you feel safe, someone that can be your family,” Han explained and Luke wanted to debate.  He wanted to point out that he was raised by his Aunt and Uncle because his parents were dead and deadish but it wasn’t the same.  They had loved him and raised him as their own.  Instilled good values and a sense of family and security in him.  Very different from Han’s childhood and Grogu’s.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You also don’t understand that sometimes the family you choose means more to you and bonds stronger than the family you are born to,” Luke couldn’t even try to argue that.  Han wasn’t related to him but he was his brother, there was no other word to describe it.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But the child needs to be trained,” he tried again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Child, is a toddler from a race that can live to be 1000 years old.  You and me will be long dead before this expressive piece of asparagus is even an adult. But before he becomes an adult, he needs to learn more than lessons in the Force.  He needs to learn what it feels like to be a safe, loved, part of a family.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I,” Luke started but stopped.  He had 12 other learners that needed his attention.  All of them were old enough to care for themselves and each other, unlike Grogu.  “His attachment to that Mandalorian could open him to the Darkside.  If something happened to him, he could grow hateful over it.  We can’t have one as powerful as this child cleaving to the Darkside.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or the love and responsibility he learns from him could protect him from it, and he could grow hateful of the one that forced him to leave,” Solo threw out, “but what do I know, I’m not a Jedi.”  Luke tended to get annoyed with Han when he played stupid.  While not the most educated person, Solo was one of the smartest people he had ever met.  “And this whole little conversation proves how powerful genetics are,” he smirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, what do genetics have to do with the Child?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not his, yours.  Just like your sister you’ve already made up your mind that there was a problem and all I’m doing is verifying it. You don’t really care about my opinion, you just care that I validate what you already think.”  Luke wanted to argue that wasn’t true, but it kind of was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luke rose and summoned the pram to follow him.  He would need to meditate on this whole thing.  The Child was not doing well and he did have too many responsibilities to be the caregiver this kid needed.  He supposed he could build or buy a nurse droid, but bonds in childhood were important, even Master Yoda admitted that.  He had just been so desperate to get there to save him.  The child’s calls, though equally desperate to protect his Mandalorian guardian, had just been so powerful.  There had been so much fear, of course the greatest was around seeing his Father (why did he pick that word) injured, but that just proved his point, that his attachment to the Mandalorian opened him to fear.  But on the other hand, he had seen the powerful use of the Force in defense of his guardian done purely out of love.  Master Yoda had said fear led to hate and hate led to the Darkside but Love could also lead to fear.  Damnit, Ben and Yoda made this whole thing seem way easier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bay 26, and 10am, by the way,” Han held up his mug in a toast.  Luke ground his teeth.  Of course the man knew he was going to go with him to talk to the Mandalorians about what he should do.  </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Din Djarin Might Need a Hug</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The trip to the Outer Rim was fast and smooth as Luke had become accustomed to, even with two force sensitive children aboard. Han had decided to swing by and pick up Ben so he could tag along and the child had been over the moon at the prospect. While Leia may be able to communicate on a Force level with her son, Han had his own way of bonding with the boy and it often had a lot to do with stupid, and dangerous stuff, like taking a 3.5 year old to the Outer Rim to pick up a group of people from the fiercest warrior race in the galaxy. He wondered if Leia knew about it but then decided it might be better if she didn’t.</p><p>Baby Grogu had even perked up when they entered the shuttle hanger, his ears rose and his eyes scanned around but after he didn’t find what he was looking for, he sunk down into his pram, ears drooping. The only other rise in mood they had gotten from him was when he met Chewy, who for all his size and fearsomeness was a sucker for kids. He was always amazed watching the enormous Wookie cradle little Ben so gently.</p><p>Thinking of that reminded Luke of his predicament. Chewy was the perfect example of a family of choice. No one questioned that he was Ben’s uncle even though he was a totally different species and couldn’t speak Basic. He was Ben’s uncle because he was Han’s brother and that was that. But Luke balked at the idea of that being so between the Child and the Mandalorian. Everything he had ever heard or read about Mandalorians was that they were savage and warlike. And this one was a bounty hunter, how much lower could you get. “Smuggler” popped into his mind but he pushed it away, Han and Chewy weren’t smugglers anymore.</p><p>When they arrived at the designated port, Luke greeted the three armored people and one hooded figure. Two were clearly women and the third an average sized man. They all wore finely made blue armor and carried weapons. They stood and stared at each other for a moment before there was a delighted cooing noise and a small green and brown blur ran by, giggling and babbling. He was also making a noise somewhere between a snort and a purr, that Luke had never heard before. He ran to each of the Mandalorians stopping to examine them before moving past them to check in the shuttle bay. His large, round eyes scanning every corner before his ears dropped and he sat down abruptly, letting out a mournful keen. It quickly turned into an outright cry and Luke felt his face flush with embarrassment at not being able to control his charge.</p><p>Han, luckily knew what to do and scooped the, now wailing, child up. “Not the Mandalorian you were hoping to see, huh kid?” He asked sympathetically. The kid turned his face into his shoulder and cried pitifully. Luke kind of felt like a heel after seeing that. The Child’s cries started to make Ben, who was an extremely sensitive little boy, sniffle until Chewy distracted him. C-3PO covered the rest of the awkwardness like any good protocol droid.</p><p>Luke bayed them to enter the Falcon even as Han bounced the green child, trying to calm him. The woman with the most intricate armor removed her helm, smiling down at the wailing kid. “Hello, young Mudhorn, Grogu,” she said in what he assumed was Mando’a. The baby looked out at her and sniffled, eyeing the helmet. Luke realized that this woman had been on the bridge of the ship he had rescued, when he had found Grogu.</p><p>The child held his hand out, and Luke assumed he wanted to be held by the woman, but then he felt the swell of the Force, and her helmet slammed into Han’s chest so the child could hold it. He clasped it in his paws, rubbing his cheek against the smooth Beskar.</p><p>He was going to remove it and give it back but she smiled, softly. “The little one misses Din, I think.”</p><p>“Why anyone would miss that stubborn, uncommunicative sack of,” the other woman started as she also removed her helmet but stopped herself before cursing in front of the children. Luke also recognized her. The man also removed his gear, but he was unknown. He found it quite interesting that the two women seemed to hold very different feelings towards Grogu’s former guardian. The dark haired one, while respecting his skill as a warrior, thought him cold and foolish but also held a great deal of fear and jealousy about him. The redhead, on the other hand, had equal parts burning hatred, admiration, and sexual attraction. All the while the cowled figure didn’t speak though she did lower her hood to reveal a Torguta and Luke could feel her power even without seeing the duel sabers at her belt. He would have much to speak with her about.</p><p>It turned out that it was a good thing that the redhead, named Bo-Katan, didn’t have a problem with a child hugging her helmet, because the Kid was not giving it back. In fact, he fell asleep, with even his ears wrapped around it. She was surprisingly OK with it and even smiled about it. Luke figured she must have children of her own, or was at least very tolerant of them.</p><p>Luke approached her and the Togruta, he learned, was named Ahsoka, in the galley, silently asking permission before sitting beside her. She didn’t smile at him but he didn’t expect her to either. He was beginning to realize that softness in Mandalorians was entirely reserved for children. She finally broke the silence, “Grogu seems thin,” she spoke and Luke tried not to take it as an accusation.</p><p>“He has not settled as I hoped,” Luke admitted to the formidable woman. He has been,” he paused, not wanting to use the word but decided to be honest, “unhappy.” She hummed low in her throat. He then steadied himself and took the leap he had been dreading since deciding to accompany Han and Chewy. “Tell, me Princess, what is the child’s former guardian like?”</p><p>“Din?” she turned her head to the side, catching the eye of the other woman and fidgeted with her cup. She then rose and retrieved a third one, plus a bottle of wine. “I suspect this is going to be a long conversation,” she explained before pouring them each a cup. Luke accepted and watched her for any sign that she was being untruthful. “The first time I med Din Djarin, he was trapped in a mamacore pit, half drown, and all he cared about was saving Grogu.” she stated. Luke felt his eyes go wide.</p><p>“We had a bit of a disagreement and some mistrust afterwards, not that it was really his fault, he didn’t know any better,” she spun her wine in her cup. “But I saw his potential and convinced him to help me take an Imperial ship, though he thought we were only trying to steal guns,” she smiled.</p><p>“How did you convince him to do that?” Luke wondered.</p><p>“He needed to find the location of a Jedi to help his foundling and I happened to know where Ahsoka was,” she cut her thumb to the other woman. So she was a Jedi or had been at least. “I wouldn’t tell him until he agreed to help,” she chuckled, “not sure he has really forgiven me for that one.</p><p>“Then when Grogu was taken by Moff Gideon he asked for my help. I couldn’t say no, given that he was going after Gideon and they had a tribe foundling. So we helped him, not that it turned out well for any of us,” she finished. He wasn’t sure what else had gone wrong other than him taking Grogu, but her feelings about it were very dark indeed. “Any way he, himself, was a foundling after his family had been killed. He was saved by the Watch and raised in Manadlorian culture as a member of the fighting corp. He is a damn good warrior, more clever than most, and a surprisingly decent human being for having been raised in the most extreme cult Mandalorian society has,” she explained. “And he loves that little, green kid more than life itself.”</p><p>“Then why did he agree to let him go?” Luke asked, sipping his wine. It was crisp and sweet, the type of treat he couldn’t indulge in back at the temple.</p><p>“Because that is the Way,” she answered and he looked at her confused. The way of what? “It is part of the Mandalorian Creed, the very basis of our society. Foundlings are either kept and raised as one of us and if they are too weak or unsuited, the parent must find others of their own kind to care for them. “Din was tasked with finding Jedi to take the child and after she refused, he found you.” It didn’t really make sense to Luke but whatever.</p><p>“You are thinking of giving Grogu back to him, aren’t you?” the Torguta woman, named Ahsoka asked.</p><p>“I do wish to speak to him about it. Or perhaps have him tell Grogu to let him go. The Child is having a hard time moving past his attachment to the man.”</p><p>“Din is as a father to him. A child does not simply move past missing their father, especially one that saved their lives so many times and cares so much about them.”</p><p>“He must if he is to become a Jedi,” Luke insisted.</p><p>“He should not be trained,” she insisted and Bo-Katan reached over to cover her hand. A private communication passing between them that Luke didn’t understand.</p><p>“I need help contacting the Mandalorian,” Luke finally continued. “I don’t know where he is or where to find him.”</p><p>“I don’t know where he is but I can contact him, not that he answers,” Bo-Katan groused. “But I am not going to send him a message that there is a problem with his son and needs to meet us. He will panic at best and at worst you are going to get shot at when he gets here,” she chuckled.</p><p>“You said he hasn’t answered, how do you know he is still alive?” Luke asked. He was only ever able to hazily view the man and for all he knew it might not even be the same person. He had only been in the same room with him for all of 3 minutes.</p><p>“Oh he opens the messages, he just doesn’t answer them,” Bo-Katan ground her teeth. “I suspect he thinks I am trying to trick him and or want to kill him,” she admitted but gave no more information on why. Could he trust this woman? The other force sensitive person seemed to trust her and Grogu had been pleased-ish to see her so maybe she was ok. Perhaps it was just some sort of family feud that didn’t concern them. Before he could wonder about it anymore, she continued. “There is one person he will definitely answer though. Her name is Cara Dune, she was a shock trooper that is now a Republic Marshal on Nevarro. If she calls, he won’t ignore her.”</p><p>“Will she do it, though?” Luke asked.</p><p>“If it means reuniting Din with Grogu, I suspect she would walk through fire,” she mused. “If we can, we should stop there on the way there or back and talk with her and the head of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, Greed. If anyone will know where he is, it would be the man that gives him work.” Luke nodded and excused himself. He needed to talk with Han.</p><p>He found the ex smuggler, when he burst into his cabin, waking two sleeping children, both of whom started to cry at the intrusion. If looks could kill, Luke would have been dead before he hit the floor. Grogu quietly fairly quickly, once he realized he still had the helmet but Ben continued to whimper as Luke guiltily explained that they would need to stop by Nevaro and why. Han grumbled, but got up to set course for Nevarro. Luke had tried to protest they could do it on the way back, to which Han had pointed out that he had built in time knowing something like this would happen or they would stop by Yavin IV to visit Kes and his family and so Ben could play with Poe. Luke really hoped he missed that part of the adventure. Not that he didn’t like Shey and Kes and he understood the importance of Ben having friends that weren’t stuck up Senator's sons but man, that kid was annoying! He was constantly talking, running, doing things, just basically acting like a coked up monkey or a typical little boy. Luke found him exhausting.</p><p>They landed in Nevarro and Luke found it to be very nondescript. It was sandy, brownish red, warm but not hot, with a cool wind that didn’t gust. It was boringly mild. Bo-Katan had sent a message ahead and as they left the shuttle bay, they were met by two people. One was a tall and intimidating looking man with dark skin and a grey beard. His voice was booming and his energy charismatic and infectious. The other was a woman with soft, dark eyes that looked like she could bench press Chewy. Luke vaguely remembered her from the ship Grogu had been on.</p><p>When they disembarked the woman, Cara, came forward, greeting Bo-Katan and Koska before turning to look at him. She seemed awestruck, which he was used to. She had seen him take out an entire platoon of dark troopers so he wasn’t surprised, but then he realized it wasn’t him she was looking at, but at Han.</p><p>“Holy shit, she breathed, “that is General Solo.”</p><p>“Who?” the big man whispered, eyeing Chewy.</p><p>She stepped towards the ex smuggler and dropped to one knee, bowing to him. “Prince-Consort, it is an absolute honor to have you here.” Luke had to work to hide his smirk at the completely confused and uncomfortable look on Han’s face. Everyone, mostly Han, tended to forget that he was technically the Prince Consort of Alderan and her territories, while Ben was the heir apparent.</p><p>“Ah yeah, you can get up, I don’t stand on formality,” he joked, nervously running his hand through his hair, even as Ben did actually giggle at him. Solo snatched up the kid, tickling him slightly, “none of that from you, or I will tell everyone you are a prince too.” he threatened playfully.</p><p>“Technically, his title is Captain-General Solo, Hero of Endor and Prince Husband to Senator Organa of the New Republic, Queen of Alderan and her territories,” C-3PO supplied. “You would not address him as Prince Consort as he never swore the oath of service to a coronated queen, at least I have no recollection of him doing so during the wedding.”</p><p>“Trust me, I swore a lot before, after, and during that wedding,” Solo smirked.</p><p>“Probably because of that shotgun at your back,” Luke couldn’t stop himself from joking.</p><p>“Ten months and one day, kid, ten months and one day.” Han winked, repeating a common comeback to the accusation that he and Leia had been forced to marry. Ben was born 10 months and one day after their wedding, proving she had gotten pregnant after they had taken their vows.</p><p>The mood was disrupted as Grogu’s pram came floating from ship, and Grogu, still holding Bo-Katan’s helmet until he saw the two Nevarrans and keened, waving his arms in the air. Cara picked him up and he limply fell against her. For the second time in so many days, Luke was nearly murdered by someone’s look. He meekly followed them to their lodgings in town.<br/>^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^</p><p>Not even an hour later, Cara found herself sitting across the table from Bo-Katan. Grogu was napping in his pram after a small meal of soup and eggs. The child had barely touched it, only eating when it was offered, rather than the ravenous way she was used to. He also still cuddled the Mandalorian Princess’s helm, seeming exhausted and out of sorts, nothing like the vibrant and lively thing she knew.</p><p>Bo-Katan reached over and ran one gloved hand across the sleeping babe’s face, her eyes finally meeting Cara’s and holding a similar quiet fury. “I need you to contact Din. Get him to come here but,” the princess started.</p><p>“But we can’t let him know how bad Grogu is doing, he’ll lose his shit,” Cara supplied and was met by a curt nod. “You, watch him, I’ll go send it right now,” she rose to go concoct some story he would not only believe but also be willing to come back for.<br/>^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^</p><p>Luke found himself unable to sleep and chose to take some quiet reprieve in the courtyard of their accommodations. He, however, found it already occupied by a sleeping child and an already meditating grey Jedi. He joined them, quickly relaxing his mind to more consciously sense the ebb and flow the life around him. Then spreading outward, to begin to sense more of his surroundings and to feel the strength of his silent companions. That was when it happened, something he had never experienced before. It was like his very consciousness was hijacked and someone was using him to access greater amounts of the Force. He went to fight but was calmed immediately by the woman beside him.</p><p>“No, let Grogu do as he needs,” she cautioned, even as Luke began to nearly be overwhelmed by the child’s fear. He felt the young Jedi use their additional power and reach out for his Manadorian guardian but once he found him, rather than speaking, he pulled him into his mind, inor his unconscious, into his dream, along with the two masters beside him.</p><p>^^^^^^^^^^^^^</p><p>Din walked through the massive building, his boots making a hollow thud on the ornate marble floor. He held his blaster at the ready even though the cavernous room was empty, except for a slew of dead bodies. He felt fear, the strongest fear he had ever felt, almost physically dancing along his skin, making him want to duck for cover, but he couldn’t. He had to find Grogu. Grogu was here, he needed help, he needed to be found, he needed to be protected from whatever had sliced up the people around him.</p><p>He didn’t know where to go, or where to start, but he turned left, heading up stairs, hoping the dorms would be above the gallery. More bodies, twisted and severed, some with eyes almost popping out of their heads, as if they had been constricted by a giant snake. The smell of burnt flesh and the eliminations of the dead making him want to gag.</p><p>As he continued his way up, he began to hear the sounds of battle, or more to the point, the sounds of slaughter. He hurried his steps, even as every nerve told him to run. He couldn’t leave Grogu here, even if it meant he had to fight. Actually if he could fight and stop whatever it was, then Grogu would be safe. All that mattered was keeping Grogu safe. He reached a floor and turned on a whim, moving as stealthily as he could, wearing a full suit of armor, carrying a spear, and a jetpack. Clandestine style attacks had never been much of a part of Mandalorian tactics.</p><p>As he crept he heard a familiar noise, it was muffled, so quiet he didn’t know how he had even heard it. He immediately darted into a plain looking room with a tiny crib and a bleeping robot. It was an R2 unit, he thought maybe it looked familiar but to be fair he tended to ignore or actively avoid droids of all kinds, even rolling trash can-esque ones. Maybe they didn’t flat out scare him the way they used to but they still set his teeth on edge. Without knowing why, he went past the droid to the corner and pushed a small dresser to the side, exposing hole cut into the wall, behind it was Grogu.</p><p>Din fell to his knees, accepting the frantic hug from the shivering and shaking child. “Shh, Kiddo, I’ll get you out of, don’t worry,” he soothed, just as he heard footsteps approaching. It could be help but something told him otherwise.</p><p>He didn’t have time to stuff the kid back into the wall and reset everything so he improvised and stuffed him inside of the droid, hoping that the thing would stay quiet. Just as he had stood and shoved the thing to the side, the doorway was filled with a dark figure, cloaked in black, flanked by stormtrooper like soldiers. He drew and fired, taking down the two soldiers but the cloaked figure deflected the blast with his light saber. Fuck him, he hated fighting against lightsabers, no they couldn’t cut through is armor but if his block was off he was dead, and even if his block was good, it heated his armor up to the point it burned like a bitch. He had had welts and blisters on his forearms after fighting both Ahsoka and Gideon.</p><p>Without looking back he rose to fight, only to be thrown across the room and crash into the wall. He could hear Grogu’s whimpers and practically feel his panic. He wanted to do nothing more than console him but he couldn’t, he had a feeling all he could hope for was at least his foundling getting out alive. He stumbled to a stand, exaggerating his unsteadiness to use angle and his cape to block that he had attached his jetpack to the droid.</p><p>He then stood and faced the dark figure. He could see a fair face and blonde hair. He thought for a moment it was Skywalker but the eyes were wrong, all wrong. Rather than a kind, almost mischievous blue, they were red and yellow. He wanted to look away because they were perverse and frightening. Like he was looking at his own death. Luckily or unluckily, Din had never really feared death. He had always been much more afraid of losing someone he loved, which would happen if he didn’t find a way to at least distract this guy long enough to get Grogu and the droid to the window. He held his blaster up again, futilely firing at the angry Jedi. None of the blasts landed but it did give him enough cover and distraction to maneuver the droid close to the window. He then calculated the angle he needed to be at and fired again, the deflection of the shot bouncing into the window, breaking it enough that his jetpack could propel the droid through it.</p><p>As he reached down to fire the boosters, the Jedi had made it into close enough range to attack. He ducked and blocked as fast as he could, doing everything possible to put distance between them. He remembered his training, get distance, get the highground, get the upper hand. Of course that didn’t account for fighting people that could pick you up and throw you around like a ragdoll with their minds. Each hit was strong and fast, keeping him on the defensive, it was nothing like fighting Gideon or even Ahsoka. Ahsoka had had all the skill but no killing intent, while Gideon had intent to kill but no skill. This man wanted him dead and would stop at nothing to achieve it and was more skilled than anything he had ever seen.</p><p>He resorted to his flamethrower to at least get a tiny bit of distance between them, hopefully enough to get the droid out of the window. Then he felt it, like a vice had tightened around his throat, crushing tighter and tighter, he couldn’t yell and his instinct was to claw at his throat. He didn’t though, he had read about this and seen Grogu do it. Once he had broken Grogu’s concentration, he had stopped. He had to keep enough of his head to break this Jedi’s concentration. A grappling line to the balls might work. He fired, and while not hitting his target, at least he managed to get him to quit choking the life out of him. He took the brief reprieve to shove the droid to the window ledge, kicking out the last of the glass. He took a moment, the briefest of moments to think he might grab the pack and Grogu and run but he knew it wouldn’t work, not against this guy. He would snatch them from the sky. He had to keep him distracted while the droid carried Grogu away.</p><p>The Jedi charged him, his weapon seeming like a wall of light and heat. Din did his best to keep his beskar between his body and the blade but he was tiring, quickly and knew he couldn’t keep it up much longer. He was desperate and in a rush, he knew what he needed to do. He looked at the droid and prayed to any mythical god he could think of that he could buy enough time, as he lost ground and was pushed to the window ledge. Then and only then did he drop his guard, allowing the Jedi to ram the burning hot saber through his torso. With what was left of his strength, he did three things. First he whispered with his final words, “I’m sorry, kid, I love you,” in Mando’a. Second, he activated his jetpack, Grogu and the droid flying out of the window. But not before, he used his knife to pin the Jedi’s hand to the hilt of his lightsaber. He had done it in such a way that the man couldn’t deactivate the blade or let go of it. The blade itself was imbedded in Din’s chest, between two plates of beskar it couldn’t cut. He smiled at the surprise on the man’s face, and jumped backwards.</p><p>He woke with the taste of blood and ash in his mouth along with bile creeping up his throat. Instinct rather than conscious thought had him lurching over the side of his bunk to eject hot bile and air over and over again as his mind swam with visions of charred children and red and yellow eyes framed by a handsome face. Fear was like a cloak around him, was Grogu safe, had he saved his foundling?</p><p>As the haze of the nightmare began to lift, and his brain began to actually work again, he rolled away from the pile of sick on his deck, wiping his shaking hand across his mouth. His stubble was now a full grown beard of sorts, at least as good of one as he could grow. He breathed deeply for a minute or two, making sure he wasn’t going to retch again then slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. The ship swam around him, and pain lanced through his thigh, making him grab it. His hand came away wet with plasma and other discharge. His stomach lurched again but he ignored it.</p><p>He knew after that nightmare, there was no chance he could sleep again, but he still had over 2 hours before reaching Nevarro. He didn’t really want to go back, but he couldn’t ignore Cara’s request for aid, afterall, she had risked her life to help him rescue Grogu. He owed her, probably more than he could ever pay back. But there was still the heaviness in his chest that had once been so much lighter with his kid around. Days of hunting, flying, and now just sleeping had done nothing to lesson it. If anything, it was worse. Din wondered if he should let himself cry or something before he got to Nevarro so that he didn’t lose it when he got there. As much as he hated to admit it, it had helped, after the massacre in the Coverts.</p><p>
  <em>Din hadn’t slept in four days and was running on fumes but still couldn’t seem to sit still. First had been the problems with Greef, then the night attack, then Greef changing sides, then the attack by Gideon, then nearly dying, then finding out nearly his entire tribe was gone, finding out he was a parent, losing the IG, killing Gideon, burying Kuil, and getting back to his ship. It had been a lot to deal with.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he had gotten back to the Razor Crest he had immediately gone into hyperspace for safety. No set destination, just some protection. Then he broke what needed to be done into things that were critical, important, could wait, and why bother. In the critical category were things like treating Grogu’s injuries, feeding and cleaning him, and making sure he was warm and safe. Also in critical was caring for his armor and weapons. Important was cleaning, taking care of, and feeding himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He had completed those tasks, with the Child neatly tucked into his hammock with a full belly and Bacta cream on the small burns on his little paws. Din had cleaned and taken care of his gear and showered and ate. He stood though, at a loss of what to do next with his nervous energy. The bathroom was a mess, so he wiped it down but there was a pile of laundry, so he threw it in the wash. The faucet on the sink was whining again, he should fix it, where was his wrench but there was also a stain in the shower that should be scrubbed away, but the little one’s spare suit had a hole that should be mended and he should make sure there were rations ready for the next day because his foundling would be hungry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His foundling, that was a scary thought. He never thought he would have one, no one ever thought he would have one. Not Din, he was a cold fish, all he cared about was hunting, his friends used to rib him but no more they were gone, dead, their armor piled like a graveyard of bones. His breath sped up as his mind tried to shy away from memory. They had died because they had been protecting him and his foundling, it was the Way but it was his fault. He looked up and one of the emergency lights was blinking, not in an emergency way but in a way that there was a short somewhere. It needed to be fixed, along with making breakfast, doing laundry, cleaning the ship, find the Child a place to go, remembering his friends, was Paz’s helmet there, he didn’t remember, he needed find a place with a library and learn more about the Jedi, did they even still exist, would they help a Mandalorian, maybe other Mandalorians had seen them, met them, knew where to find them, he needed to find others of his own kind to help, help protect the Kid, he couldn’t let anything happen to the kid, his brothers would have helped him, they did help him and now they were gone, dead, missing, he needed to find better rations, were human rations right for whatever the Child was, the Armorer would know, did she survive or was her armor in the pile too?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As the thoughts had chased each other around in his head in uncontrolled bursts, his heart started to speed up and it suddenly became very hard to catch his breath. The endless energy that had kept him going for the last four days seemed to disappear in an instant and with his back against the wall, he sank to the ground like a puppet with the strings cut. He felt dizzy and nauseous, like the end of an adrenaline rush and his breathing a ragged echo inside his helmet. He tried to still it but heard the sounds of crying. For a moment it thought it was the Child, he had to get to him but his limbs were stone and he didn’t have the strength to move them. But then he realized it wasn’t the Kid, the sounds were him, he was crying, awful scorching tears and barely suppressed sobs for his tribe. It was an insult to them though. He shouldn’t be sad for one that died in battle, it was honorable, it was just, it was the Way but now he was part of a Clan of two and no longer a tribe of sixty.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wanted to stop, needed to stop, was trying to stop when he heard the soft scuffing of the Child’s feet. In that instant he was mortified. He had to be strong for his foundling. He had to make him feel safe, he couldn’t let him see him like this. A sense of greater panic set in and his breathing sped up even faster, making his heart pound harder, like it was going to fly out of his chest. He felt like he was going to suffocate and wanted to claw the helmet off his head but he couldn’t, not even to survive. He tried to talk, to tell the Child it was ok, or to go back to bed, or any number of things but he couldn’t. He couldn’t form words around the lump in his throat and his lungs couldn’t seem to time moving hair at the same time as speaking. And still the thousand thoughts of what he needed to do, what he had done wrong, what he would do wrong, swam faster and faster through his mind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His foundling cocked his head at him for a moment then raised his paw towards, his eyes squinting or drooping, Din couldn’t tell through the blur of tears over his own. He wondered if the little guy wanted to be picked up, comforted. He should comfort him but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. His tingly, useless, disconnected body was stuck at the same time his mind moved a million miles an hour.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He tried to say something, he didn’t know what, and the next thing he remembered was waking up in his bunk 16 hours later. The kid was standing beside him, chewing on a dried frog leg and holding the Beskar mythosaur necklace the Din had given to Cara. Din had no idea how he had gotten to bed or managed to sleep so long but he felt better. Not great, not over everything, but like he stood a chance. He beckoned the little guy over and picked him up to cradle him for a minute before rising to get dressed. He would need to clean the inside of his helmet, it was disgusting but it could wait for a few minutes. He took a step, and then another, and then another.</em>
</p><p>That was what he needed to do now, just keep moving but it wasn’t the same. He knew what he had needed to do then. Now he didn’t even know where his boots were. It didn’t matter though, he needed to see what was going on, he owed Greef and Cara that much.</p><p>As he got within 60 minutes of the planet, he finally pulled himself up, his injured leg screaming at him as he put weight on it. He cursed as it nearly buckled under him, limping to his sad med kit, hoping he at least had some pain blockers. He would need to get some bacta soon. The stupid thing was infected or at least not healing right. He had to admit the karmic comedy of it though. His Buir had bled to death in his arms when he was 20 after a lucky shot had gotten past his cuisses and shredded his femoral artery. An amusing trivia note, the one piece of mismatched armor he wore was his right cuisses, which had belonged to his Buir.</p><p>Luckily he had a few tablets and he chewed them up and dry swallowed them. They tasted like a combination of chalk, fuel, and burning. He never tended to take them, they always made him feel off, like the world was moving at a different speed than he was. Sometimes like things were speeding past him and he couldn’t keep up or like it took forever for the world to catch up with his moving eyes. It made him feel out of control. He hated it but right now it was a necessary evil.</p><p>He limped back to the cockpit and settled into his chair, his leg screaming at the pressure of his cuisses resting on it. He ignored it and refused to fidget, as if someone was watching him and he needed to be strong. He didn’t though, he was completely alone and could whine and whinge all he wanted but that just wasn’t his style.</p><p>He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, still feeling impossibly tired and dozed, though not letting himself fall deep enough asleep to dream, till it was time for him to land. When he woke, he knew the pain blockers had started working. His mouth was dry, his brain felt like it was floating in the top of skull, the sides of his vision were swimming, and his eyes felt hot and strange in his head like maybe they wanted to pop out or maybe they were partially deflated. The only good side was when he stood, the pain in his leg was manageable, still there but it didn’t bring tears to his eyes. Downside of course was that he felt weird and disconnected from reality.</p><p>He landed and grabbed his weapons, just in case, opening the hatch to exit. The pale sand seemed unnaturally bright, even through his visor, making him squint. He scanned the area and his watering eyes settled on Cara, once his vision quit swimming. He walked down his ramp, taking extra care not to favor his injured leg. Yes it felt better but it still bloody hurt.</p><p>“Mando,” she clasped his wrist in a friendly greeting, he tilted his head in acknowledgement and returned the wrist shake. He refrained from talking yet because the annoying floaty, spinny feeling in his head was starting to make him queasy. He really needed to get some bacta. She tilted her head to the side at him, and if he didn't know better, he would think she knew he was injured and feeling off. He straightened and held his hand out to bid her to take him wherever he was supposed to go, determined not to show weakness.</p><p>They walked towards the building her and Greef used as a headquarter and he was thankful they didn’t have to go to the overly loud cantina. But before they entered, he saw three armored figures peel away from the wall. Cara sighed, looking slightly guilty. Had she sold him out? He balanced his weight, ready to draw on Bo-Katan if he needed to. He may not necessarily have much will to live at the moment, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be murdered in the street, as contrary as that seemed. There were three of them and they were well armored but he had his jetpack, his spear, and his rifle. The Darksaber he had left on his ship. He didn’t know how to use the damn thing so why carry it.</p><p>To make matters worse, he then noticed that Ahsoka was also standing in the shade of the building. She hadn’t moved her hands to her lightsabers but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. If she was helping Bo-Katan and he had to fight all of them, he was screwed.</p><p>He flexed his fingers, trying to get his muzzy head to come up with a vague plan, but not be too obvious so that Ahsoka could tell, when he heard a sound that had been both joying and haunting his sleep for the last 31 days. A green and brown snorting, cooing blur came charging at him, his little paws reaching up and flexing. Before even realizing what he was doing, he had dropped onto one knee and scooped Grogu to his chest, his world narrowing to the warm bundle snorting against him as his vision blurred from tears of happiness. He knew he should be wondering why the child was there, what had happened to Luke, and generally what was going on, but all he could focus on was his foundling, finally safe back in his arms. He really was a selfish bastard sometimes.</p><p>About that time, he finally realized that there was a frazzled looking Jedi calling after Grogu, a tall, cocky looking bloke laughing, and a Wookie doing something. He wasn’t sure what because he didn’t speak Wookie and after getting his ass handed to him by one when he was 20, he tended to stay very far away from them. He had done a lot of stupid shit after his Buir’s death, like pick a fight with a Wookie. He probably would be dead if Paz hadn’t taken pity on him and wrapped the things wrists so they could run, or in his case being half dragged and half limping away. Luckily now he had better coping mechanisms for grief, like ignoring it, suppressing it, and attempting to sleep through it. Those were all significantly healthier, right?</p><p>He rose, his injured leg shooting pain up and down his thigh but it was forgotten as Grogu reached his hands up to his helmet and pulled Din’s head down to press their foreheads together in the classic Mandalorian family greeting. Those tears that had been blurring his vision had definitely fallen now. It felt so wonderful to have his family back.</p><p>“So much for explaining the situation before he and the kid saw each other,” the cocky looking guy joked, shoulder checking a peeved looking Luke.</p><p>Din wanted to ask what the fuck was going on but his brain was a little foggy and there was a lump in his throat the size of Tatooine. But it didn’t matter because Grogu’s little fingers were wound up in his cowl and he was straight up purr snorting and christ how he had missed that sound. Grogu always made noise, whether it was his nails clicking or his robes swishing as he walked or his constant touching and trying to eat things, or even the myriad of weird vocalizations he made. He was never quiet. It had driven Din batshit crazy at first. He had always had problems with noises. Constant or rhythmic sounds relaxed him but random sounds could make him hit the roof. The Other children used to haze him by sneaking up behind him and slamming pans together or settling fire crackers just to watch him jump a foot in the air. And there had been a time when the banging of the forge had terrified him and his first helmet had been made with a sound dampener by request of his Buir. Probably why he had the rather unfortunate nickname, Twitch, till he was well into his adulthood. He had mostly grown out of his startle response to noise but the utterly chaotic mix of sounds Grogu made had taken getting used to but now he missed it. The near silence on his ship made him feel impossibly lonely.</p><p>Bo-Katan took a step towards him and he couldn’t stop the instinctive tightening of his arms around his foundling. “Din,” she started and he couldn’t tell if she was going to attack him or help him. It turned out the point was moot because the next instant, there was a loud explosion and the streets and air filled with Imps.</p><p>The next few hours were a bit of a haze for Mando. There were wave after wave of Imps coming at them. It helped to have two Jedi with them along with a Wookie and the other cocky guy was no slouch either but it was still a long battle. Din had stowed Grogu safely under a desk and prayed he would stay. The rest of his attention was on protecting the civilians and keeping himself alive. Focusing on killing the next trooper, taking out the transport and guns, and finding the leader kept him from focusing on screams of the children the sounds of death, the smell of the explosions, and how his mind kept trying to take him back a horrible run, his mother mouthing “I love you,” and a terrifying stay in a cellar. He was the Mandalorian now and he could jolly well take care of himself, damn it! His wounded leg and woozy constitution was forgotten in the heat of combat but afterwards, he had his typical after battle let down, though worse than usual. He managed to stay upright and alert through sheer force of will</p><p>The fight had finally wound down and Din made his way back to the office he had stashed Grogu in along with another boy with pale skin and huge dark eyes. There was a visceral fear that the Jedi would have taken him and left without getting to say goodbye. It was a stupid, immature fear but he couldn’t stop it from dancing through his nerves. His parents, his foster father (he supposed he technically still had had a pulse when he had gotten there though he was unconscious), his tribe, it seemed like he never got to say goodbye to people when he lost them. Of course he had gotten to say goodbye to Grogu and it hadn’t helped much.</p><p>Thankfully, the little guy was right where he had left him, sucking on the mythosaur necklace that had once belonged to Din. He picked him up and felt him nuzzle against his cowl, snorting in pleasure. He tried to comfort the other boy, but he hid his face, rocking himself and begging for his dad to come back. The Jedi, the Wookie, and cocky guy came in, just as he sat down, Grogu on his good leg, holding his fingers in his surprisingly strong grip. Turned out cocky guy was the dad and didn’t seem nearly as cocky as he scooped the crying boy into his arms, rocking him side to side to soothe him.</p><p>Grogu seemed concerned about the other child so Din set him down, with some effort. Not only did Grogu seem to want to cling, he personally was getting to the end of his strength and really wanted to lie down. But once the mission was accomplished, he slipped out to find some food and water for Grogu, knowing that the child would be hungry by now, assuming he hadn’t had a snack during the battle. It was hubris really, for him to assume the Jedi hadn’t already taken care of food but just in case, he found a vendor who still had some food that hadn’t been trampled. The man happily gave, refusing payment, him some chicken legs and a packet of the blue cookies Grogu liked. He didn’t bother getting anything for himself. The idea of eating was stomach turning.</p><p>He returned to a crying and indignant Grogu, who immediately latched onto him like a leach. He didn’t mind though because it allowed him to sit and rest his leg, which now that he wasn’t frantic in battle and the pain blockers had worn off, felt like it was being stabbed with an inflatable knife that was tearing his hamstrings apart. He stretched it out, hoping to take some of the pressure off it, wondering if there would be any bacta left on the planet after that battle.</p><p>As Grogu devoured the drumsticks, Din had brought him, the others came drifting in. No one was badly injured and others decided a meal was a good idea. All stayed except for Greef, who needed to be political and stay outside. Even Cara sank down to tuck into the food well wishers had brought. The smell made Din’s mouth water but not in a good way. He concentrated on not puking in his helmet rather than the conversation till someone addressed him.</p><p>“And you, shiny Mandalorian, are a damn good fighter. I would hate to be on your bad side,” the cocky dad guy joked.</p><p>“Yeah, Mando, might as well be a one man army half the time,” Cara jested, playfully shoving his shoulder and making the world start to spin a little too fast for his liking.</p><p>“We all did our parts,” he mumbled just to cover his silent prayer that the room would quit circling him. Then he heard it, servos and metal grinding, a droid, he drew his blaster and pointed it straight at a gold droid with big eyes that tried to make it look human. It wasn’t human, it was a killer, all droids could and would kill.</p><p>“Mando, calm down,” Cara grabbed his hand before he could shoot.</p><p>“No, stop, don’t shoot Threepio, how could we live without him schooling us on proper placement of Twi’lek silverware,” the cocky bloke joked again, giving him a wink for some reason. The haze of fear cleared and he holstered his gun, his hands still shaking. Hopefully no one noticed. He wondered how long he had to sit here before someone told him exactly why Grogu and the Jedi were on Nevarro, because if it was to help fight off the Imp attack he may lose his shit because the Jedi said he was going to protect the kid, not drag him into battles. Of course that was also some of the most hypocritical thinking in that parsec.</p><p>As night fell and the meal broke up with only the annoying droid, Threepio they had called it, pointing out he hadn’t eaten, Din wondered what he should do. He needed to treat his leg, the pain was almost unbearable and he had had to fight to stave off the shivers that wanted to wrack him from fever. But there were others that had been injured worse. He also didn’t know where he was supposed to sleep, was he expected to stay here in case of another attack, or should he go back to his ship. The ship seemed the most sensible but then he had to leave Grogu, who was sleeping peacefully cradled against his chest. He didn’t think he could do it, leave him again, especially without saying goodbye. Should he wake him and say goodbye. It seemed like an impossible decision for him right now.</p><p>He also felt like he was on Hoth, but someone was roasting his right thigh. Complete with a spit through it that was spinning him up, down, and around. His severely muddled musings were interrupted though, by the only other occupant left in the room, the Jedi, Luke.</p><p>“Mr. Mandalorian, can we speak, away from the Child?” He asked, and even though it meant putting Grogu down and standing up, at least he was finally going to find out what the fuck was going on. He nodded his head and placed Grogu in his new pram. It wasn’t as nice as the one Kuil had made him but it was better than riding in a sack, he supposed.</p><p>He rose, trying not to show how stiff and sore he was. He did his best to try not to reveal how much his leg pained him but when they stopped in the butler’s pantry for privacy, he leaned against the counter, straightening his right leg out so as to not carry any weight on it. Luke stared at him for some time, seeming to look into him rather than at him. It was really annoying but not as annoying as the sudden wave of heat that washed over him, making his head feel like it had disconnected from his body. He really wanted to take off his helmet, it felt stifling, like he couldn’t breath and was making his head pound even worse than it was before. He tucked his thumbs into his belt to stop himself from trying to pinch the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“Fuck, why was it so hot?” he was wondering, waiting for Luke to talk. Or at least that was what he thought he was thinking before he felt Luke reach out to steady him, making him jump back on reflex, slamming the back of his thigh against the counter. The pain made his partially blacked out vision flare white and his knees buckle.</p>
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